- Isak Dinesen
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Just die already...
It's something that most of us would like to forget. It's something that I believe the enemy works with all his strength to keep out of our minds in the moments when it counts the most: the fact that we're supposed to die.
The self-preservation instinct is an annoying little necessity. It makes men cowardly. It prompts over-caution and can drain much of the spontaneity and daring out of life. Yet it keeps them here to fulfill the years that the Lord has appointed for them.
But self-preservation, when applied to situations in which the supposed "danger" is a mere figment: a risk that threatens only that part of ourselves that is supposed to die; that instinct quickly turns into self-promotion. It is a monster that crouches low in each of us, trying to blend into the scenery, trying not to call attention to its own vile presence, but that lashes out in fierce self-defense whenever it is so much as alluded to. Because of course, our motives in a situation could never be selfish.
The Bible tells us that we are not ignorant of the enemy's schemes. But what of the scheme of prompting us to indulge emotion at the expense of rational thinking in a moment of confrontation? What of the scheme that prompts us to question our every action in a given situation, reevaluating it a hundred times over, without ever considering our motive? Most of all the motive of simple, ghastly selfishness.
I'm selfish. You're selfish. We're all selfish.
I wish I were less selfish. So do you. I bet we all do.
I'm trying to be less selfish. So are you. So are all of us.
I'd appreciate a little mercy while I'm in the process of becoming less selfish.
I bet you'd appreciate that too.
I bet we all would.
These are not complicated facts. We have no problem mentally acquiescing to them as we read them here: calmly stated and unconnected to any particular person or situation.
But why is it such a different matter at the time of an altercation? When faced with a situation in which two parties disagree over how something should be done, why do we never ask the painful question: am I doing this for selfish motives?
Am I doing this to save myself some work? Because I don't feel like it? Because I feel slighted? Because I want more? Because I want better? Because I want to be... whatever.
Why do we never ask the painful question? Because it's painful. Because it hurts. And anything that hurts badly enough can kill. And so self-preservation pretends to have been called for. Because we've forgotten the truth with all of it's sharp edges: some things are supposed to die.
I am supposed to die. Daily, Paul says. By willingly taking up and carrying, one agonizing footstep at a time, the very instrument of my execution. I'm supposed to bear in every step a little bit of death. Sound awful? Talk to Jesus. He said it, not me. "Take up your cross and follow me." Carry the thing that's killing you. Through the crowd of people that are killing you. To the very place where all of this will culminate in the one thing you've spent your whole life resisting: death.
Dylan Thomas says "Do not go gently unto that good night." Jesus disagrees. Walk right up, calmly stare death in the face, realize that you have looked eye-to-eye at something far more powerful and drink the cup that you've spent a lifetime begging the Father to pass from you. Just die already.
Without death, there can be no resurrection. Without death, there can be no Christ-likeness.
"I have been crucified with Christ, it is no longer I who live but Christ lives in me. And this life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave Himself for me. And I do not lay aside the grace of God. For if righteousness comes through the law then Christ died in vain."
The end of Galatians 2 makes one thing very clear: Christ did not die in vain. His death purchased my righteousness. But that doesn't exempt me from dying. In fact, because He has recovered for me the righteousness of God that I had hopelessly lost, I now have the blessed privilege of finding freedom from the disgusting instinct of self-preservation that, when allowed to have its way in me, yields self-promotion.
I can now again look like God. And selflessly lay my life down for another. "Greater love has no man than this, that he should lay his life down for his friend."
But anyone can jump in front of a bus in a moment of adrenaline-induced heroism. Death to the body is so much easier than death to the ego, death to the will, death to our childish sense of "fair".
Anyone can jump in front of a bus. Far fewer people can get up and take out the trash when they're dead tired, every day, year after year, without scowling at their spouse as though said spouse were the entire reason there were such a thing as garbage in the universe and a sanitation system in this nation.
Anyone can jump in front of a bus. Far fewer people can show mercy when another selfish-brat-in-recovery rudely insists on an arrangement that leaves them with more work or fewer benefits and do it as unto the Lord with all the might they possess while still recognizing that person as in-recovery and on their way to selflessness.
It takes the mighty to die daily.
Some men die once. Others die daily. And it is the daily deaths that really hurt.
Self-promotion crouches within, screaming "it hurts; I'm tired; it's not fair; I'm getting the worse end of the deal; they're not taking care of me the way they should; I'm not living the life I could; I'm not as happy as I should be; this is killing me!" And truly it is. Killing that heinous little monster within that insists on special treatment. Killing the part of us that is supposed to die. With little blows day by day, with splinters in the shoulder... that carries the cross...
But remember, beloved, though your body is burdened and breaking, though your feet ache and your mind wrestles with a thousand cries from your little monster. Though you are weary and broken and bleeding. Though you bear in every step a little bit of death...
Forget not, as you carry the thing that's killing you... through the crowd of people that are killing you... and as you are painfully aware of the cost in obeying when He said "take up your cross..."
That He also said "and follow me." Forget not that you are not the first to pay the painful price.
Lift your eyes but a little bit, beloved, and you will see Jesus laboring on ahead of you. Bearing on His own shoulder a million, million crosses; your own included and none His own. Dying that you may live. That you may live truly: a life not of self-preservation or self-promotion, but of self-sacrifice. Just like Jesus.
As you wind up that terrible hill, with the agonizing steps of death that your interactions today will doubtless bring, remember that Jesus has gone on ahead of you and that you look more like Him every time that monster dies.
Take up your cross. And follow Him.
"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." Hebrews 12:2-4
Today, I look into myself and say without a shred of mercy: just die already.
The self-preservation instinct is an annoying little necessity. It makes men cowardly. It prompts over-caution and can drain much of the spontaneity and daring out of life. Yet it keeps them here to fulfill the years that the Lord has appointed for them.
But self-preservation, when applied to situations in which the supposed "danger" is a mere figment: a risk that threatens only that part of ourselves that is supposed to die; that instinct quickly turns into self-promotion. It is a monster that crouches low in each of us, trying to blend into the scenery, trying not to call attention to its own vile presence, but that lashes out in fierce self-defense whenever it is so much as alluded to. Because of course, our motives in a situation could never be selfish.
The Bible tells us that we are not ignorant of the enemy's schemes. But what of the scheme of prompting us to indulge emotion at the expense of rational thinking in a moment of confrontation? What of the scheme that prompts us to question our every action in a given situation, reevaluating it a hundred times over, without ever considering our motive? Most of all the motive of simple, ghastly selfishness.
I'm selfish. You're selfish. We're all selfish.
I wish I were less selfish. So do you. I bet we all do.
I'm trying to be less selfish. So are you. So are all of us.
I'd appreciate a little mercy while I'm in the process of becoming less selfish.
I bet you'd appreciate that too.
I bet we all would.
These are not complicated facts. We have no problem mentally acquiescing to them as we read them here: calmly stated and unconnected to any particular person or situation.
But why is it such a different matter at the time of an altercation? When faced with a situation in which two parties disagree over how something should be done, why do we never ask the painful question: am I doing this for selfish motives?
Am I doing this to save myself some work? Because I don't feel like it? Because I feel slighted? Because I want more? Because I want better? Because I want to be... whatever.
Why do we never ask the painful question? Because it's painful. Because it hurts. And anything that hurts badly enough can kill. And so self-preservation pretends to have been called for. Because we've forgotten the truth with all of it's sharp edges: some things are supposed to die.
I am supposed to die. Daily, Paul says. By willingly taking up and carrying, one agonizing footstep at a time, the very instrument of my execution. I'm supposed to bear in every step a little bit of death. Sound awful? Talk to Jesus. He said it, not me. "Take up your cross and follow me." Carry the thing that's killing you. Through the crowd of people that are killing you. To the very place where all of this will culminate in the one thing you've spent your whole life resisting: death.
Dylan Thomas says "Do not go gently unto that good night." Jesus disagrees. Walk right up, calmly stare death in the face, realize that you have looked eye-to-eye at something far more powerful and drink the cup that you've spent a lifetime begging the Father to pass from you. Just die already.
Without death, there can be no resurrection. Without death, there can be no Christ-likeness.
"I have been crucified with Christ, it is no longer I who live but Christ lives in me. And this life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave Himself for me. And I do not lay aside the grace of God. For if righteousness comes through the law then Christ died in vain."
The end of Galatians 2 makes one thing very clear: Christ did not die in vain. His death purchased my righteousness. But that doesn't exempt me from dying. In fact, because He has recovered for me the righteousness of God that I had hopelessly lost, I now have the blessed privilege of finding freedom from the disgusting instinct of self-preservation that, when allowed to have its way in me, yields self-promotion.
I can now again look like God. And selflessly lay my life down for another. "Greater love has no man than this, that he should lay his life down for his friend."
But anyone can jump in front of a bus in a moment of adrenaline-induced heroism. Death to the body is so much easier than death to the ego, death to the will, death to our childish sense of "fair".
Anyone can jump in front of a bus. Far fewer people can get up and take out the trash when they're dead tired, every day, year after year, without scowling at their spouse as though said spouse were the entire reason there were such a thing as garbage in the universe and a sanitation system in this nation.
Anyone can jump in front of a bus. Far fewer people can show mercy when another selfish-brat-in-recovery rudely insists on an arrangement that leaves them with more work or fewer benefits and do it as unto the Lord with all the might they possess while still recognizing that person as in-recovery and on their way to selflessness.
It takes the mighty to die daily.
Some men die once. Others die daily. And it is the daily deaths that really hurt.
Self-promotion crouches within, screaming "it hurts; I'm tired; it's not fair; I'm getting the worse end of the deal; they're not taking care of me the way they should; I'm not living the life I could; I'm not as happy as I should be; this is killing me!" And truly it is. Killing that heinous little monster within that insists on special treatment. Killing the part of us that is supposed to die. With little blows day by day, with splinters in the shoulder... that carries the cross...
But remember, beloved, though your body is burdened and breaking, though your feet ache and your mind wrestles with a thousand cries from your little monster. Though you are weary and broken and bleeding. Though you bear in every step a little bit of death...
Forget not, as you carry the thing that's killing you... through the crowd of people that are killing you... and as you are painfully aware of the cost in obeying when He said "take up your cross..."
That He also said "and follow me." Forget not that you are not the first to pay the painful price.
Lift your eyes but a little bit, beloved, and you will see Jesus laboring on ahead of you. Bearing on His own shoulder a million, million crosses; your own included and none His own. Dying that you may live. That you may live truly: a life not of self-preservation or self-promotion, but of self-sacrifice. Just like Jesus.
As you wind up that terrible hill, with the agonizing steps of death that your interactions today will doubtless bring, remember that Jesus has gone on ahead of you and that you look more like Him every time that monster dies.
Take up your cross. And follow Him.
"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." Hebrews 12:2-4
Today, I look into myself and say without a shred of mercy: just die already.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
A verse contributed...
"My candle burns at both its ends;
It will not last the night;
But oh, my foes, and oh, my friends --
It gives a lovely light."
- Edna St. Vincent Millay
--:--
"Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art; to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul."
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
--:--
"The powerful play goes on,
And you will contribute a verse."
-Walt Whitman
It will not last the night;
But oh, my foes, and oh, my friends --
It gives a lovely light."
- Edna St. Vincent Millay
--:--
"Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art; to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul."
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
--:--
"The powerful play goes on,
And you will contribute a verse."
-Walt Whitman
Monday, May 11, 2009
Resisting the gray twilight...
"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat." -Theodore Roosevelt
Why do we shrink back? What is it about normality and numbness that charms us so? Why do we linger in the gray twilight?
The sun is brilliant and glorious but can sear and scorch. The night is mysterious and dazzling but can chill the bones and blind the eyes. But isn't it better to be seared and scorched than never to stand in the sun? Isn't it better to be cold and blinded than never to have gazed into the black of the sky and chanced to see the stars?
Isn't it far better to dare mighty things? To win glorious triumphs? To fail miserably and be broken to pieces than to live a numb, safe, comfortable half-life untouched by the aching beauty of adventure?
Isn't it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? I'd rather lose tragically than never love deeply. I'd rather be made the fool than never care enough about anything to live with foolish passion.
Why do we shrink back at the proposition of pain? Have we not endured being beaten and broken under it before and yet survived? I've hurt. And yet I'm still here. So why is the avoidance of hurt a defining reality in my life?
I think I'd prefer the throws of agony to the dim mediocrity of those who never dare.
I'd rather bleed than endure the unbearable pangs of remorse induced by wasted moments and thus wasted life.
I would rather live deeply, love with reckless abandon, dare with unbridled bravery, dream without a trace of cynicism and die with the rare honor of having actually lived.
It is an honor that can be purchased with nothing other than moments embraced, whatever that entails. The heroes of the earth who blaze through the gray twilight like shooting stars, burning with brief brilliance, are those who have taken in a lovers' embrace joy and sorrow, triumph and defeat, unspeakable pleasure and unbearable pain each in their turn. They are the noble, valiant few who do not merely exist, but rather do the unthinkable and actually live.
I'd rather stand in the sun and crawl in the midnight hour than linger in the gray twilight.
I'd rather drink to the last dregs the cup of violent joy and suffering than sip idly at the sleep-inducing potion of comfort poisoned with regret.
C. S. Lewis once said "we fear failure more than we love life, so we refuse the great adventures."
Apologies, Jack, but that's not a "we" I want to be a part of anymore.
Why do we shrink back? What is it about normality and numbness that charms us so? Why do we linger in the gray twilight?
The sun is brilliant and glorious but can sear and scorch. The night is mysterious and dazzling but can chill the bones and blind the eyes. But isn't it better to be seared and scorched than never to stand in the sun? Isn't it better to be cold and blinded than never to have gazed into the black of the sky and chanced to see the stars?
Isn't it far better to dare mighty things? To win glorious triumphs? To fail miserably and be broken to pieces than to live a numb, safe, comfortable half-life untouched by the aching beauty of adventure?
Isn't it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? I'd rather lose tragically than never love deeply. I'd rather be made the fool than never care enough about anything to live with foolish passion.
Why do we shrink back at the proposition of pain? Have we not endured being beaten and broken under it before and yet survived? I've hurt. And yet I'm still here. So why is the avoidance of hurt a defining reality in my life?
I think I'd prefer the throws of agony to the dim mediocrity of those who never dare.
I'd rather bleed than endure the unbearable pangs of remorse induced by wasted moments and thus wasted life.
I would rather live deeply, love with reckless abandon, dare with unbridled bravery, dream without a trace of cynicism and die with the rare honor of having actually lived.
It is an honor that can be purchased with nothing other than moments embraced, whatever that entails. The heroes of the earth who blaze through the gray twilight like shooting stars, burning with brief brilliance, are those who have taken in a lovers' embrace joy and sorrow, triumph and defeat, unspeakable pleasure and unbearable pain each in their turn. They are the noble, valiant few who do not merely exist, but rather do the unthinkable and actually live.
I'd rather stand in the sun and crawl in the midnight hour than linger in the gray twilight.
I'd rather drink to the last dregs the cup of violent joy and suffering than sip idly at the sleep-inducing potion of comfort poisoned with regret.
C. S. Lewis once said "we fear failure more than we love life, so we refuse the great adventures."
Apologies, Jack, but that's not a "we" I want to be a part of anymore.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Some quotes about life and God...
Taken from a book the lovely Ms. Lederle gave me for graduation...
"It takes a long time to become young." -Pablo Picasso
"Life has meaning only as one barters it day by day for something other than itself." - Antoine de Saint Exupery
"The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it." -W.M. Lewis
"We never live so intensely as when we love strongly. We never realize ourselves so vividly as when we are in the full glow of love for others." -Walter Racschenbusch
"Fear not that your life shall come to an end, but rather fear that it shall never have a beginning." -J.H. Newman
"Our love for God is best tested by the question of whether we seek him or his gifts." -Ralph Sockman
"God doesn't care so much about being analyzed. Mainly, he wants to be loved." -Philip Yancey
"Life's greatest tragedy is to lose God and not to miss Him." -F.W. Norwood
"I can see how it might be possible for a man to look down upon the earth and be an atheist, but I cannot conceive how he could look up into the heavens and say there is no God." -Abraham Lincoln
"We are not human beings trying to be spiritual. We are spiritual beings trying to be human." -Jacquelyn Small
"It takes a long time to become young." -Pablo Picasso
"Life has meaning only as one barters it day by day for something other than itself." - Antoine de Saint Exupery
"The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it." -W.M. Lewis
"We never live so intensely as when we love strongly. We never realize ourselves so vividly as when we are in the full glow of love for others." -Walter Racschenbusch
"Fear not that your life shall come to an end, but rather fear that it shall never have a beginning." -J.H. Newman
"Our love for God is best tested by the question of whether we seek him or his gifts." -Ralph Sockman
"God doesn't care so much about being analyzed. Mainly, he wants to be loved." -Philip Yancey
"Life's greatest tragedy is to lose God and not to miss Him." -F.W. Norwood
"I can see how it might be possible for a man to look down upon the earth and be an atheist, but I cannot conceive how he could look up into the heavens and say there is no God." -Abraham Lincoln
"We are not human beings trying to be spiritual. We are spiritual beings trying to be human." -Jacquelyn Small
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